


The Whole Shebang

by PyrrhaIphis



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Incest, Multi, Shower Sex, Suicide Attempt, The infamous foul mouth of Curt Wild, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrrhaIphis/pseuds/PyrrhaIphis
Summary: Between and behind the scenes, a series of vignettes giving new glimpses into the life of Brian Slade, his lovers and his fans, even after his career dies.  For the "Four Little Words" prompt challenge, a collection of 47 fics of 100, 200, 300, 400 and 500 words.  Now complete!This is the first time I've tried actually writing for Brian; I hope I've been able to approach something resembling an accurate portrayal.  I've only listed the four relationships represented in the most chapters, in descending order regarding number of chapters.  Fics are in movie order, rather than chronological.  After the movie, they continue to be out of chronological sequence, but hopefully it's easy to tell when each fic is taking place.  (The "Suicide Attempt" tag is only for a single chapter.  You can probably guess who and why.)





	1. I'm not wearing that.

            Despite how much they had hurried to get here, they were still quite far back in the queue.  They’d be lucky to even _see_ the stage!  Arthur didn’t want to let on how much that disappointed him, though; the others might think he was disparaging their own musical performances.  He’d never do that:  he loved their music.  But this was _special_.  This was going to be Arthur’s first experience at a real, big-time concert (his stuffy parents had never let him go to any of the ones held back home) and on top of that, it was _Brian Slade_!  Even as wonderful as the Flaming Creatures were, they just weren’t in the same league.  It was like trying to compare a school rugby match to the World Cup:  they weren’t just out-classed, they were playing a completely different sport.

            Not long after a cop with a suspicious look on his face strolled down the line past them, eyeing them as if they were serial killers in hiding, Pearl glanced across the street, and suddenly exclaimed “Wait here a minute!”  He dashed off across the street and into a little book shop, coming out again a few minutes later with a magazine in his hands.  “I saw this earlier, and didn’t have any money on me to pick it up,” he explained as he rejoined them.  “There’s this fantastic outfit in here.  It’d be perfect on you, Arthur.”

            “What kind of outfit?”  It looked to be a magazine about the movie industry, so the outfit could have been literally _anything_.

            “I’m just looking for it now,” Pearl said, flipping through the pages.

            “Casual outfit, or stage outfit?” Ray asked.

            “Stage.”

            Arthur’s heart started beating faster.  Were they finally going to let him join them on stage after all his pleading?

            “Ooh, here it is!”  Pearl folded the magazine back and displayed one of the pages to them all.  It was a still from some Victorian period piece.  There was a well-dressed gent and a woman in a corset and little else.

            “Um…”

            “Wouldn’t he be just adorable in this?” Pearl asked the others, pointing at the woman’s corset.

            As the others started chorusing their agreement, Arthur scowled.  “I’m not wearing that.”  He was _not_ desperate enough to enter show business that he’d dress up as a Victorian prostitute.  There were limits, and that was way past them.

            They started trying to talk him into it.  Of course.  It’d be a great laugh, wouldn’t it?  The more they pressed, the more it annoyed Arthur.  How could they be talking about something so meaningless right now?  They were waiting to see Brian Slade perform, and they had passed Jack Fairy ( _Jack Fairy!_ ) on the street!  By the end of the day, they would have seen two of the three gods of their age, and they were just going about business as usual?

            What was the matter with them?

            They were the professionals here, after all.  Shouldn’t they have been taking this more seriously?


	2. Maybe I'm just crazy.

            “We can’t film this.”  The director scowled at the storyboard in front of him.  “It’s obscene.”

            “Just how is a harmless little kiss obscene?” Brian replied, wearing his most charming smile.  He had already crossed the line; he couldn’t allow himself to be stopped now.

            “It’s two men,” the director said, with a covert glance at the man in the sailor suit.

            “So it is.  And?”

            “Well, it just isn’t done, is it?  You’ll outrage the nation,” the director claimed.

            “I think the nation is ready,” Brian assured him, then laughed.  “Or maybe I’m just crazy?” he added, with a wink at the ‘sailor.’  The other man winked back with a grin.

            “You want the whole world to think you’re a fruit?” the director asked.

            “I’m not worried about what the world thinks.  I know who I am.  What I am.”  Brian’s smile widened.  “And the world is going to find out the truth.”  He raised his arms to either side of him.  “I’m Brian Slade—and I’ll lead this stodgy world to a new revolution!”

            The director looked aghast, but all the extras for the video applauded.

            What a marvellous sound applause was.

            If only it would never stop!


	3. Hey, I said stop!

            After the film was over, Arthur made his way into the gents’, trying to buy a few more minutes before he had to go home.  There had to be someplace he could go instead of just back to that awful place.

            If he was older, he could go to a pub.  If he had more money, he could go to the shops, or go buy something to eat at a café somewhere.  But he _wasn’t_ older, and he _didn’t_ have any more money.

            So what choice did he have?

            He hadn’t fully accepted the conclusion when he became aware of someone at the next urinal.

            Despite himself, Arthur had to look and see who it was.  Maybe it would be some good-looking university bloke…

            _Oh God_.

            That lecherous old man.  Not looking at what he was doing.  Just leering over at Arthur.

            Blanching, Arthur turned his eyes back forward, and angled his body a bit, trying his best to hide his willy.  But the whole time he could feel that man’s eyes on him.

            Another glance proved what he already knew.  “Here, mind your own business!” Arthur snapped at him, using up almost every ounce of courage he had.

            The man just smiled at him, and showed no sign of looking away.

            Hastily, Arthur finished up, eager to do up the zip on his trousers and escape the loo before he could be assaulted.  If that sort of thing really happened.  Maybe that was just a lie men like his father had made up?

            He hadn’t half got it back inside when Arthur felt a hand on his arm, tugging slightly, hampering him.  “Hey, I said stop!” Arthur shouted, taking a hasty step away from the old man.

            The old man just continued to watch him until Arthur hurried outside.


	4. I don't want this.

            “I don’t want this.”

            That’s what he should’ve said.  Should’ve just told Lou that he wouldn’t do it.  Couldn’t do it.  _Shouldn’t_ do it.

            He wasn’t impartial.  He was too close to the story.

            Sure, Arthur remembered, but he remembered too much.

            It wasn’t professional.  A proper journalist wouldn’t do it.  They’d go back and explain that they couldn’t.  _Why_ they couldn’t.

            That’s what a proper journalist would do.

            So why was Arthur waiting for the subway?  He shouldn’t be on his way to the library to research the story.

            He shouldn’t be here.

            Glam wasn’t his life.  Not anymore.


	5. Let me help you.

            To Cecil’s surprise, the enchanting young man just stood there, staring at him.  “You don’t have any experience?”

            “Not as such, but I know people,” Cecil assured him, “and I understand the industry.”

            “So does Mandy,” Brian replied, shaking his head.  “What can you possibly offer me that she hasn’t already got?”

            Cecil smiled.  “Friends in the club scene can’t advance a singer’s career.  I can take your music further.  Let me help you.  Your talents should be shared.”

            Eyes shut, Brian ran his fingers through his long, brown locks  “What’s your sign?” he asked as he opened them again.


	6. I won't let you.

            _“There, you’re all cured!  Don’t you feel better?”_

            The words echoed in Curt’s ears for weeks.  He’d heard them before, after all.  But then some bitch—he suspected his sister, but he wasn’t sure—told his parents he’d been kissing an older boy at school, and back he went for more ‘treatment.’

            Were all doctors that cruel?

            He knew all parents were, but was it doctors, too?

            Maybe the whole human race was just fucked up and enjoyed inflicting pain.

            It couldn’t be that there was actually something wrong with him.  That was just stupid.  He wasn’t doing anything that everyone else didn’t do.  And it wasn’t like it ever _felt_ wrong.  If it was really wrong, it would have felt wrong.  That time he’d swiped the money out of the collections plate when no one was looking had _felt_ wrong; he hadn’t needed to get caught to know he shouldn’t have done it.

            That’s how he knew stealing was wrong.  And how he knew fucking a boy wasn’t.

            So why didn’t everyone else know it?

            Why did they insist on calling him names?  So he liked to have sex.  How did that make him a ‘fairy?’

            No one at school was faster to throw a punch than Curt was.  No one had climbed more trees or thrown more rocks.  No one was faster to write his name in fresh snow.

            He wasn’t exactly Tinkerbell.

            But…maybe no one else really _saw_ him when they looked at him.

            But if that was the case, then what _did_ they see?  _Who_ did they see?  Curt wasn’t even sure how to find out.

            “Why are you standing in the john making faces at the mirror?”

            “Piss off,” Curt snapped.  He didn’t want to deal with his family right now.  Especially not _him_.

            “I can’t piss, you’re between me and the toilet.”

            “So go use the bushes, fuckwad!”

            “You know what happens to naughty little boys with potty mouths, don’t you?”  His brother’s breath was suddenly hot and hard against Curt’s neck, and a hand was grabbing his ass.

            “You’re not sending me back to that place!” Curt snarled, pulling out of his grasp.

            “Don’t worry.  Mom’s in town, and Dad’s off hunting.  There’s no one to catch us.”

            “Fuck you.”  Curt backed away, pressing himself against the wall of the bathroom.

            “You know _I’m_ the one who does all the fucking,” his brother chuckled, moving in closer.

            “I won’t let you,” Curt insisted.  “Never again.”

            “What are you suddenly being so coy for?”  A mocking laugh.  “Do you think that makes you sexy?  Nothing could ever make _you_ sexy.”

            “Then why do you want to fuck me?”

            “Because you belong to me, and you need to learn your lesson.”

            “I don’t belong to anyone!”  Curt kneed him in the crotch, and ran out while he was doubled over in pain.

            He was out of the trailer in another minute, running straight into the woods.

            No matter what, he wasn’t going to stop.


	7. You're such a bitch.

            “Really?”  Mandy had to ball up her fists to keep from scratching his eyes out.  “You’re going to discard Cecil so easily, after everything he’s done for us?”

            “He agreed to the contest,” Brian pointed out, his voice surprisingly level.

            “How can you stab someone in the back like that after you’ve slept with him!?” Mandy demanded.  She couldn’t bear to ask the corollary:  would he turn on _her_ as readily?

            “It didn’t mean anything,” Brian insisted, shaking his head.  “It was just business.”

            “ _Business_?!  Are you planning to fuck everyone who helps you get ahead?!”

            Brian’s eyes widened and his mouth slipped open as if Mandy had just betrayed him.  “I meant terminating the contract with him was business,” he explained, with a little laugh.  “Not the sex.”

            Mandy let out a relieved sigh.  “I doubt Cecil sees it that way.”  He _was_ rather fragile.

            Brian shrugged.  “If he doesn’t, that’s hardly _my_ fault, is it?”

            He really didn’t feel the least bit of guilt after all.  Some slick-talking asshole shows up and uses fucking _arm-wrestling_ to tear Brian away from Cecil, and he was okay with that?

            “You’re such a bitch,” Mandy sighed, looking at Brian’s blithe smile.


	8. I'm sorry, but no.

            Cecil was doing a better job than usual at keeping his face from betraying him.  Maybe because this fellow was attractive; he always kept his composure better around handsome young men.

            Despite that he was doing his best to distract the reporter with disarming anecdotes about his time with Brian, the question eventually came—as it always did.  Did he know what had happened to Brian in the last ten years, did he know where Brian was now?

            “I’m sorry, but no,” Cecil thought with a grim interior smile.

            He gave the usual lie.

            Hopefully Mandy could be more convincing.


	9. I believe in you.

            “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Brian suddenly said, when they had almost reached the counter.

            “Why not?”

            His lips puckered slightly.  Mandy was beginning to understand that was Brian’s equivalent of blushing.  It was frightfully cute.  “I want to make it on my own,” he insisted.  It sounded like a lie, but the note of pride in his voice was genuine.

            “All right, all right.”  Mandy ruffled his hair with her fingers, trying to soothe him.  “But we still need money to live on.  And that _is_ what my parents gave me this money for, darling.”

            Brian didn’t complain again, and Mandy had soon exchanged the rest of her traveler’s checks for cash.  It would have been nice if he’d let her use the money to help him hire a band to back him up, but it wasn’t worth hurting his pride.  A man’s ego was such a brittle thing, after all.

            After they left the bank, Mandy wrapped both her arms around Brian’s, and leaned in closer to him.  “You want to go shopping first, or should we go home and make love?” she asked.  She was partial to the second option, really…

            Brian shrugged, so she turned them towards home.  He remained silent the whole way, a sure sign that something was wrong.  They were already sitting on the bed, half naked, before Mandy could bring herself to ask what was bothering him.  “What have you told your parents about me?” he asked.

            “Well…I haven’t really spoken to them yet,” Mandy admitted.  She probably _should_  have called home as soon as Brian proposed to her, but…then she might have to admit that she had dropped out of college _ages_ ago, and then they might try to demand that she come home.  Better to wait until after the wedding, when they couldn’t do anything about it.  “I don’t really get on with them too well anyway.”  They’d only agreed to send her to college in England because they thought it was stuffy and Victorian and might cure her of her fondness for ‘inappropriate’ behavior.

            Brian nodded.  He knew what it was like not to get on with his parents.  He could have written the book on it.

            Mandy kissed him sweetly, to take his mind off such serious things.  Brian responded with his usual ardor, and soon they were making beautiful love.

            But afterwards Brian rolled over and stared up at the ceiling miserably.  “What if we’re making a mistake?” he asked.  “What if I’ll never make it?”

            “I believe in you,” Mandy assured him, “and you should believe in yourself, too.  You’ll take the whole world by storm, I promise you.  Ten years from now, everyone will know your name.”  She laughed, and cuddled up beside him, placing a kiss on his cheek.  “And I’ll get to say that I was your very first fan.”

            Brian laughed.  “Fans,” he repeated.  “Imagine having fans…”

            “You will, my love.  Someday, you’ll have more of them than anyone else.  I promise.”


	10. I can't do this.

            Arthur could feel his parents’ disapproval on his back as he continued to watch the interview.  He tried to distract himself, to focus all his attention on the broadcast.  After the excitement of Brian admitting that he was bisexual, the men interviewing him didn’t seem to know what to ask about, and kept fishing about for ‘safe’ topics.  When they asked if he was planning to take his act on tour to the rest of the world, the man running the interview suddenly interrupted and answered for Brian.  Arthur had a feeling that meant there was a deal in the works that hadn’t been solidified yet.

            Then he couldn’t help wondering what kind of deal Brian would have to make in order to win the approval of someone as stodgy as Arthur’s father.

            Probably a deal with the Devil.

            That was no good.

            But maybe there was something Arthur could do to make his parents understand.  Something he could say to make them see that the only difference between him and Brian Slade was that Brian had the courage to show the world who he really was, and the talent to back up his courage.  If only Arthur was _good_ at anything, then things would be different!

            He had _tried_ to learn guitar years ago, but he quickly learned that he was all thumbs, and would never be the next Hendrix.  Couldn’t particularly carry a tune, either.  And everyone who had ever heard him try to drum on tabletops insisted that he had absolutely _no_ rhythm at all.

            If he couldn’t be in a band, the best he could hope for was to see one perform in person.  But even that was impossible with his parents around…

            The interview wasn’t quite over when his father got up and turned off the telly.  “That’s enough of this rot,” he grumbled, then turned a hard gaze down at Arthur.  “You don’t actually listen to that to that music.”  It was a command, not a question.

            _I love it_ , Arthur wanted to say.  _Brian’s a god—I want to be like him—I **am** like him._   He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again.  “I can’t do this,” he thought to himself.  How could he admit to anything under his father’s disapproving gaze?

            “Well?”

            “He’s very popular,” Arthur squeaked, ashamed to hear his voice breaking.

            Why was he such a coward?


	11. You don't want me.

            The room seemed to burst with frenetic activity.  People were shouting, grabbing clothes, calling for bags, discussing America.  In the chaos, no one seemed to notice Shannon was even there.  As usual.

            “Hmm?  Who are you?”  Suddenly, there was a man standing right in front of her, looking at her curiously.  He had a soft, pretty face, and a gentle voice.  Even though Shannon didn’t particularly follow popular music, she still knew the face of Brian Slade, and having him staring right into her eyes made her stomach tie itself in knots.

            The man in the hideous suit leaned over towards Brian and explained that she was the new ‘wardrobe mistress,’ then wandered off again.

            Shannon bit her lip.  This couldn’t go on.  “You don’t want me,” she insisted.  “I don’t know anything about clothes.  I was applying for a completely different job—I only have experience in typing and filing!”  As much as she needed the work, what point was there in taking a job she couldn’t do?

            But Brian smiled at her, and took hold of one of her hands with both of his.  “You’ll do fine,” he assured her.  “We could use your filing experience—there are so many costumes to keep track of that our last wardrobe supervisor threw up his hands in despair and walked out on us!  All you need to do is know where everything is.  I’ll handle the rest.”

            Shannon couldn’t help nodding.  There was something so exhilarating about being trusted like this.  And by someone like him!  She had never even been around someone so magical before…

            Brian wished her luck, and told her to get ready for a tour of America, then went off somewhere.

            Shannon promised herself that she would become the best wardrobe mistress anyone had ever seen.


	12. I'm not even sorry.

            “Brian, just drop it,” Mandy pleaded.

            “You’re the one dragging this out.”

            “Tell Jerry you changed your mind—tell him not to schedule another meeting!”

            Brian’s lips formed a pout, but his eyes were hard and cold.  “You think I should be satisfied with a few words in a pub when I was promised more?”

            “I understand how you feel, Brian, really I do.”  Mandy took hold of his hand with both of hers.  “But there’s no point to it.  He’s just a junky; if you try to get to know him, you’ll end up regretting it.”

            Brian snatched his hand back.  “I don’t think you understand me at all,” he snapped.

            “Of course I understand!”  Mandy could feel her voice rising towards a shriek.  Maybe being back in America was making her easier to upset.  “You want to fuck him!  I get that, but it’s a mistake!  There’s no person in that shell—just drugs and alcohol pretending to be a man.  There’s no point in fucking that.  You’ll regret it.”

            Brian laughed.  It was a cold, heartless laugh, like nothing she had ever heard him produce before.  “I’m going to meet Curt Wild.  And I’m not even sorry.”


	13. Wanna go out sometime?

            Curt was still feeling confused as they got up to leave the restaurant.  He wasn’t doing something stupid, was he?  It’d be nice if he made a decision he wouldn’t regret, for a change of pace.

            That talkative guy went off to pay the bill.  Brian latched onto Curt’s arm with both of his.  “Just leave the money to Jerry.  That’s what managers are for,” he said, laughing.  It was a nice laugh.  Inviting.  Like Brian.

            As they walked out of the restaurant onto the crowded streets of New York, Curt relaxed a bit.  The push and pull of normal people was more his setting than that stuffy, fancy dining room filled with people who didn’t know the first thing about music.  The air was clear out here—even if it smelled like cars and garbage—and not filled up to bursting with that guy’s jabberings.  Whatever language he’d been speaking, Curt didn’t understand a word of it.  It sure as hell wasn’t English.  Maybe it was lawyer, or weasel.  But not English.

            Glancing over at the man standing beside him, Curt could feel the tension from inside drifting away.  Brian was slender and soft, with the sparkle of a pretty girl, and the twinkle of a naughty little boy.  All the best things in life.  Definitely Curt’s type.  He looked interested, too.  But was he?  Curt had made that mistake before.  Sometimes they just _looked_ interested, even though they were really completely straight.  Had he said anything inside to hint that he was into men?

            Curt tried to sort through the conversation in his head, but it wasn’t working at all.  May as well just be blunt.  “Wanna go out sometime?” he asked, with a smile that felt pathetic on the inside.

            Brian’s smile widened, blinding in its beauty.


	14. You can trust me.

            Curt could feel the furrows on his brow getting bigger and bigger as he listened to Jerry talk, until he felt like a caveman with a giant, wrinkly forehead.  “I don’t get it.”

            “It’s very simple,” Jerry insisted, then began to run through the whole fucking spiel over again.

            “What Jerry means,” Brian interrupted, “is that we should let everyone see how we feel about each other.”

            “That’s bullshit,” Curt said, shaking his head.  “Last time I let anyone know I was screwing a guy, I was given shock treatments like a fucking lunatic.  Never again.”

            “Who could do that to you now?” Brian countered, moving closer and sliding his arm around Curt.  He smelled good, like coconuts and sex.  Made Curt want to fuck him again…  “You’re a big star, remember?  They can’t touch you.”

            There was something not right about that.  There was something wrong about all of this.  But Curt couldn’t figure out what it was.

            Jerry gave Curt a weaselly smile.  “You don’t have to worry,” he promised.  “You can trust me.  I know what’s best for a singer’s career.”

            Curt didn’t buy that, but Brian looked sold.

            So he nodded, and said he’d do it.


	15. Don't be fucking rude.

            The hot water streaming onto his face felt fantastic.  Even better was the feeling of Brian’s soapy fingers massaging his back.  Curt shut his eyes and just _enjoyed_ everything.  He couldn’t remember the last time simply taking a shower had felt this good.

            Slowly, Brian’s hands worked their way down to Curt’s ass, where they worked the soap into his cheeks with extra vigor.  Then he could feel his cheeks being parted, and Curt heard Brian’s laugh lilting over the sound of the pelting water.  “Don’t you ever wash your bum?” he asked.  “It’s disgusting back here.”

            “Don’t be fucking rude.”  Curt looked over his shoulder at Brian, who had crouched down behind him, putting his face right at the level of Curt’s ass.  “You don’t like it, don’t look.”

            Brian shook his head, and reached for the bar of soap again.  Sighing uneasily, Curt looked back up at the showerhead.  He knew what it meant that Brian wanted to wash his ass.  He wasn’t totally cool with the idea of ever taking it again, but, well, Brian was worth it.  Besides, it wasn’t really fair of him to always give and never receive.

            To Curt’s surprise, it wasn’t more soapy fingers he felt between his cheeks, skirting the outside of his hole.  It was the whole fucking bar of soap.  Just how much shit was there on his ass if Brian didn’t even want to touch it?  Had he forgotten to wipe or something?  He didn’t remember doing that any time recently…

            With a slight jump, Curt realized the bar had stopped skirting his hole, and was being pressed hard against it, into it.  “What the fuck are you doing?!” he shouted, trying to look at Brian again.  The contortion of his spine was helping the bar of soap on its path, so he had to stop.  “It’s not gonna fit, you lunatic!” Curt added, trying not to laugh.  Whose ass could seriously accommodate a whole fucking bar of soap?

            Brian kept pushing for a few more seconds, then laughed, and removed the bar of soap.  “Too bad,” he warbled, as lightly as if Curt had merely refused his dessert.  Soon Curt could feel soaped-up fingers taking the place of the massive bar.

            Curt let out a moan as his lover entered him.  It wasn’t that it felt good by itself; it only felt good because it was Brian.


	16. Can you shut up!?

            “In the hiatus between legs of the tour, you’ll be in the recording studio, getting the next album ready,” Jerry was droning on.

            As soon as Brian had gotten back from the salon, this meeting had started right away.  Curt hadn’t been given any chance to admire the new ‘do.  It was short, and dyed a beautiful blue.  It looked soft.  Curt wanted to touch it—caress it—find out if it was as soft as it looked.  He wanted to pet every single hair, and let his hands wander down towards—

            “Are you listening to me, Curt Wild?!” Jerry suddenly shouted, glaring at him.

            “Fuck you,” Curt growled.  “I’m not a kid in school.”

            Jerry let out an irritated groan.  “That’s a surprising piece of news, considering you’re making me feel like an underpaid schoolmaster,” he grumbled.  But instead of going away, he kept talking.  God, that man could talk for days without ever actually _saying_ anything.

            Why wouldn’t he just shut up and go away?

            As Curt looked back over at Brian’s pretty new hair, he wondered if anything else was now blue.  Had they gone so far as to dye _all_ his hair blue?

            Why the _fuck_ were they sitting there in that boring-as-shit room listening to that mouth-breathing asshole when they could be in the bedroom, letting their tongues explore every inch of each others’ bodies?

            “And I expect that when you speak to the press from now on, you’ll remember to mind your manners, Curt,” Jerry’s stern voice interrupted Curt’s thoughts again.  “It cost a lot of time and money to cover up for you last time.”

            Of all the…  “Can you shut up!?” Curt shouted.  “C’mon, Brian, let’s go to bed.”

            “You insolent little—” Jerry started.

            “I’ve been dying, waiting for you to ask!”


	17. Honestly, just stop it.

            “Do you have any idea—any idea at all—just what you’re doing?” Jerry demanded.  “You’re going to get yourselves both arrested at this rate!  That won’t do one good thing for your career.”

            “You were the one who wanted to play it up for the press,” Brian countered.

            “There’s a difference between playing it up and taking it too far.  You’re crossing a line, Brian, and I can’t shield you forever.”  Jerry shook his head.  “Honestly, just stop it.”  He turned a sharp, beady-eyed stare at Curt.  “You’re not coming within one bloody mile of that stage tonight.  I _know_ what you two were planning, and it is _not_ happening.”  A cold, seething pause.  “Do you understand me?  Are my words getting through that drug-induced haze?”

            “I’m completely fucking sober,” Curt growled back.  Close enough to it, anyway.  Just a few beers in him.  Not enough to make any kind of ‘haze.’

            Jerry continued to glare at him for a minute, then left the suite in a huff, yelling at them some more as he did.  The more he was around that guy, the more Curt didn’t like him.  There was something about him that reminded Curt of everyone who had ever done him wrong.  An uncomfortably long list…

            Brian set a soothing hand on his arm.  “Don’t worry about Jerry,” he said, smiling as Curt turned to look at him.  “He’s nothing but hot air.  We’ll still do it.”  His lips pursed up a bit, as if he was waiting for a kiss.  But he started talking again before Curt could take advantage of the invitation.  “Change into your street clothes.  Let Jerry think we’ve given up on it.”

            Curt nodded, and grabbed a shirt and some jeans out of the closet.  “Hey, look,” he said, glancing over at Brian as he started ducking out of his leathers, “you’re not really going to be licking anything on stage, right?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, I can’t play very well if I’m having to worry about my guitar strings mangling your tongue!”

            Brian laughed.  His laugh was soft and warm and light, like birdsong at dawn.  “Don’t worry.  It’ll just be pretend.”  He moved up closer, slipping his slender arms around Curt’s bare torso.  “I won’t use my tongue until we come back here after the show.”

            Relieved, Curt gave him a passionate kiss before getting dressed again.


	18. I need to go.

            “I’m sorry, Mum,” Arthur thought as the bus pulled away.  “I need to go.”

            Staying at home would be a terrible risk.  Maybe his father would only have kicked him out.  Or maybe his father would have made him an appointment with a headshrinker somewhere, convinced that he was mentally ill.  Arthur had heard terrible rumours about what doctors did to boys who fancied other boys.  He didn’t want any of that to happen to him.

            But in London, things would be different.

            Even though he didn’t have any money.

            Or a place to stay.

            It would still be better.


	19. Sorry, were you sleeping?

            Brian waited until he heard the footsteps of the person in the hallway receding.  Who’d been spying on them in bed?  Surely Mandy wasn’t starting to get jealous after all this time.  Was she?

            It didn’t even matter.

            _Someone_ was.  And that wouldn’t do.

            Cautiously, he slipped out of bed, going over to the door to peer into the hallway.  No sign of the gawper now…

            “Where are you going?”  Curt’s voice sounded sleepy, and hurt.

            Brian turned around with a smile as he shut the door again.  “Sorry, were you sleeping?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

            “Where were you going?” Curt repeated, starting to sound annoyed.  He was sitting up in bed now, legs widely crossed, and looking much more alert than he had only seconds ago.

            Brian sighed, and shook his head.  “I was thinking we should both go somewhere,” he said.  “Get away from all these nosey parkers, have some time to ourselves.”

            Curt smiled widely.  Every time he smiled like that, Brian wanted to rush into his arms.  “Fuck, you don’t have to sell _me_ on that.  I’ve been wanting to get rid of those asshats for months.”

            “Then let’s go on holiday.”


	20. I'm out of here.

            The first thing Brian said when they were alone together was to complain that Curt reeked of alcohol.  That hypocritical motherfucker!  How many times had he come back completely wasted, covered in lipstick and smelling like pussy, and had Curt ever complained?

            “Maybe you like the way Jerry smells better,” Curt suggested.  He’d noticed how Jerry was trying to force them apart.

            Brian stared at him, eyes wide, mouth a quivering line.  Then he opened that mouth and let out a stream of bitter words, unending and hate-filled.

            Curt could only come up with one response:  “I’m out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* This chapter is made of fail.


	21. You love me, right?

            Curt paused outside the hotel to light his cigarette.  There were just enough people in the street for him to _feel_ it as they stared at him.  They were whispering to each other.  Curt couldn’t understand them, but he knew they recognized him; he could hear his own name passing through their lips, and even more often Brian’s name.

            It wasn’t surprising.  This was the hotel where they’d stayed during their tour through Europe.  And they’d made quite the spectacle of themselves, visiting all the hot spots, staying a week longer than they were supposed to so they’d have more time to see them all.

            Berlin had been the best time they’d had on that tour.

            Curt started walking aimlessly down the streets.  He wasn’t sure where he was going.  He just didn’t want to stay in the room, waiting.

            It was okay.  All those muttering pedestrians knew where he was going.  Anyone looking for him would just have to ask them where he’d gone.

            And there _would_ be someone asking, right?

            Soon, Brian would come looking for him, right?

            Curt found himself facing a wall that had been plastered with posters for their tour, a huge portrait of Brian taking up most of each poster.  They had started to peel with the effects of wind and rain, but Brian’s beautiful face still stared out at him a dozen times.

            “You love me, right?” Curt whispered at the posters.  “You’re not going to let it end like this, not after everything…”

            Of course, the posters didn’t respond, so Curt kept walking.

            Why had he ever left?

            He should have swallowed his pride, stayed in London, apologized and begged.

            But Brian was smart.  He’d realize it had been a mistake.

            And then he’d come after him.

            Then they’d be together again.


	22. Please, come with me.

            Jack told the driver to move on slowly.  He was worried about what Curt would do if he learned what had happened to Brian, but if they went too quickly, they might pass him by without noticing.  According to the hotel staff, Curt had gone out walking every night since he arrived in Berlin.  He shouldn’t be too hard to find.  Curt always stood out of a crowd.  Perhaps that was why he was so often unhappy…

            They were almost three miles from the hotel when Jack spotted him, and had the driver pull over.

            As Jack rolled down the window, Curt approached the car with a pained, uncertain expression.  There was hope in his eyes, but it faded into depression as he saw Jack’s face.  If he had hoped it was Brian in the car, then he hadn’t heard yet.

            But how to tell him?

            If Jack told him here and now, Curt’s despair might cause an unpleasant scene.  That surely wasn’t what Curt wanted.  It wouldn’t be what Brian would have wanted, either.  They’d have to get in off the street first.

            “Please, come with me,” Jack urged, gesturing towards the back seat.

            Curt hesitated, watching him uneasily.


	23. I'm not doing this.

            Curt pulled back on the plunger, drawing the usual amount into the syringe.

            _No point in that._

            He pulled back further, watching the needle fill up.

            _There might be life after death…_

            The chamber was completely filled with the highest grade heroin his contact could get.

            _…but there is no life after Brian._

            That syringe held at least five times the amount he usually took.  Maybe more.

            All he had to do was inject it, and….

            _…and we’ll be together again.  Like we should be._

            He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching the door, but he saw the flash of movement as Jack came to a stop in the doorway.

            Curt looked up, defensive, wary.  He was ready to hide the needle if he had to—rush to the bathroom and lock the door.

            But Jack was just standing there, watching him.  Eyes wide and uncertain.  Not judging, just worried.

            Curt could only think an apology at his friend as he tied off his arm to plump up the vein.  Another glance up made him start feeling guilty, so he looked back down at what he was doing.

            Habit made him tap the syringe to get rid of air bubbles.

            _What a joke!_

            A large bubble rose up through the liquid to pass through the needle and burst into the air of the room, leaving a small trickle of liquid dribbling down the cold metal.  Watching it sent images bursting through Curt’s mind like so many more air bubbles.

            Screaming fans at the base of the stage, so overjoyed to see him in person that they were crying tears of joy.

            Those same faces, covered with tears of sorrow.

            Jack and Mandy, wearing matching funeral dresses, Mandy’s tear-streaked face half-hidden behind a mourning veil.

            In among the tombs of nobility and royalty, the elaborate tombstone of the murdered Brian Slade, decked out with countless flowers.

            Outside a trailer park in Michigan, the paltry grave of a suicide.

            “What the fuck am I doing?”  Curt dropped the needle, feeling his own cheeks being dampened with tears.  He looked up at Jack, and saw a few tears on his face.  “I’m sorry.”  He shook his head weakly.  “I’m not doing this,” he promised.

            Jack nodded, with a soft smile.

            Curt got to his feet.  “I should call Mandy.  I’m the only one who can understand what she’s going through.”  And he wasn’t sure if it would be tacky for him to show up at Brian’s funeral.

            On his way to the phone, Curt dumped all his drug paraphernalia in the trash can.  It’d be hard, but he’d gone through withdrawal before.

            Maybe this time it would stick and he’d be rid of that demon for good.

            When she answered the phone, Mandy sounded angry, but that faded quickly.  “Tell me you haven’t heard!”

            “Jack told me.”

            Mandy sighed.  “He left the country before I found out the truth.”

            “The truth?”

            “It was all a put-on job.  Brian’s not dead.  He’s just an asshole.”


	24. Will you help me?

            The four members of the Flaming Creatures exchanged looks with each other for long enough that Arthur started to worry.  Did they think he was expecting something from them?  After all, they’d already bought him a pint; it would be unreasonable of him to expect anything more.

            “We’ve a bit of room at our flat,” Malcolm said casually.

            “If you don’t mind sharing,” Ray added, with a wink.

            “Really?”  Arthur couldn’t believe his luck.  “Will you help me?”

            “How could we abandon a helpless lad like yourself?” Pearl replied, smiling at him.

            Arthur smiled back at them, overwhelmed with relief.


	25. I don't love you.

            Brian’s mocking laughter was still echoing in Mandy’s ears when she saw a familiar face in front of her.  Trevor waved as she approached.

            “You all right?” he asked.  “You look upset.”

            “Upset?!  I’m much more than just upset!”  Mandy stamped one foot.  “Brian’s gone completely off the rails!  Do you have any idea what he’s been doing in there?  And the way he’s treating me…!  When did he get like that?  If he got bored of me, why didn’t he just say ‘I don’t love you,’ and put an end to it himself?”  She clenched her fists to hold back the tears.  “All I want is the old Brian back…”

            “Don’t we all?” Trevor sighed.  Then he shook his head.  “Did you hear, though?  Curt’s back in town.  He and Jack Fairy are planning a concert in a couple of weeks.”

            “Really?”  Mandy wasn’t sure she cared, actually.  Seeing Curt would only remind her of everything she had lost…

            Trevor nodded.  “Jack’s asked us to be his back-up band for the show.”  The Venus in Furs playing with someone _other_ than Brian?  Mandy found that hard to imagine.  “You should come.”

            She tried to smile.  “Yeah, maybe I will.”


	26. This was never right.

            The lift was long gone down the shaft before Arthur stopped screaming after it.

            “This was never right,” he muttered when he finally gave up shouting.

            It was true he never should have taken the assignment, but having it taken away from him again was an entirely different kind of wrong.  And it can’t have been Lou’s idea, surely.  He wasn’t usually the type to change his mind, not for anything.

            Someone had to have forced him to cancel the story.

            But who?  And why?

            That former manager of Brian’s had to have been lying about not knowing where Brian was:  who else could be paying his hospital bills but Brian?  AIDS treatments weren’t cheap.  But someone had convinced him to keep quiet.

            Mandy Slade had a few times seemed frightened.  Perhaps she was being threatened.

            If so, there was one other person who might know the identity of the responsible parties…

            …and Mandy had been kind enough to supply his telephone number when Arthur had asked for it.

            Of course, Arthur hadn’t originally intended to ring him up for the story, but he couldn’t leave it like this.  His story might have been gone, but he still wanted answers.


	27. So, it was you.

            Arthur stared at the doorway long after Curt disappeared through it.  He knew better than to think Curt would return, and yet he couldn’t bear to look away.  His eyes painted him pictures, showing Curt walking past over and over again.

            “So, it was you,” he thought to one of the illusions of Curt as it stood in the door to the street, looking at the crowd, unseeing.  “It was never Brian…”

            Maybe Arthur should have realised that long ago.  All those pretty pictures of Brian, lounging naked on record covers, or standing half-clad in a magazine, none of them had ever set Arthur’s pulse to racing.  Only the romantic photos of Brian and Curt kissing or otherwise acting out their love had excited Arthur.

            Of course it wasn’t Brian he had truly fancied.

            No, but this wasn’t simply ‘fancying’ him.

            Arthur’s whole body felt engorged with desire, as though he might burst into flames if he couldn’t get nearer to Curt, catch his eye…

            …maybe even act out his own desires for once.

            He barely noticed when the Flaming Creatures joined him in the audience.  Arthur no longer had any attention to spare for anyone other than Curt Wild.


	28. Just stay with me.

            Arthur stood there for several minutes, basking in the glow of what had just happened.  It was hard to believe it could really have happened.  A nobody like him, and yet the one and only Curt Wild had…

            No one would ever believe him if he told them about it.

            But that was okay.  It could be his sweet little secret.  The most wonderful event in his life…which no one else would ever know about.

            As he started coming back down from his orgasmic high, Arthur tried to take a step backwards and nearly pitched over because his trousers were still down around his ankles.  He righted them hurriedly, then looked around for his shirts.  He’d left the blouse over by the chimney, but the T-shirt was nearby.  As he was stooping to retrieve it, he was surprised to hear Curt’s voice.

            “You’re not leaving?”

            Arthur’s whole body felt hot as he turned to look at Curt.  He was sitting on an old mattress nearby, smoking a cigarette.  His expression as he looked at Arthur seemed almost hurt.  “My mates will worry if I’m gone too long,” Arthur explained weakly.

            “Mates?” Curt repeated.  “Just friends?  No family?”

            Arthur shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to admit why he didn’t have a family anymore.

            “Then fuck ‘em,” Curt laughed.  “They’re just your friends.  They don’t own you.”

            Considering that the Flaming Creatures were paying for the roof over his head, the clothes on his back and the food on his plate, Arthur wasn’t so sure about that.  But he couldn’t say so.

            Curt gestured him closer.  “Just stay with me,” he urged, his voice soft and gentle.

            What could Arthur do but nod, and sit down beside him, cuddling up eagerly?  It was what he really wanted, after all.


	29. I don't want you.

            Arthur left the concert even more depressed than he had been when he entered.  For the second time in ten years, he had seen Brian Slade on stage, without seeing him perform…or rather without seeing the performance he wanted to see.

            Rarely had Arthur felt a stronger need to get completely pissed.  Fortunately, there was a pub not far from the concert venue…

            As Arthur was passing by the stage door, it opened, and the assembled crowd began to clamour excitedly.  How could they get so worked up over ‘Tommy Stone’?  His music was shite, and that smarmy attitude…!

            Watching Tommy accept the adulations of the crowd, Arthur was filled with disgust.  “I used to fancy Brian Slade,” he thought, “but you?  I don’t want you.  You appal me.”

            But even worse than Brian’s disgusting new persona was the love being showered on him by all these tasteless Americans.  How could they be so excited by a performance so devoid of soul, so lacking in quality?

            If only there was some way to disappoint all his new fans, to disillusion them the way Arthur had been disillusioned by finding out what had become of his erstwhile idol.

            Maybe there was….


	30. Please talk to me.

            Arthur didn’t allow himself to show how taken aback he was by Curt’s hostility.  He fought to maintain a warm, smiling expression as he sat down, taking a chair at the next table to seem less threatening, even though he was facing Curt.  “Please talk to me,” he thought, even as he forced himself to act like ‘just a journalist.’

            Slowly, he managed to work past Curt’s reticence, until they were almost having a real conversation.  But that only forced another thought into the forefront of Arthur’s mind:  “Don’t you remember me?”

            If only he could say it aloud!


	31. Alright, I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have any choice, because it's the prompt, but I feel the need to preface this with the emphatic statement that I really hate using "alright" instead of "all right." It just rubs me the wrong way.

            They were lying on the beach, looking up at the cloudy sky.  Had it been cloudy when they came out?  Curt couldn’t quite remember.  They were beautiful clouds, though, so many shades of gray, like a rainbow photographed in black and white.

            “Let’s go back inside,” Brian said.

            “I like it out here.”

            “There might be more passers-by.”

            Curt chuckled.  They’d been kissing very intensely when some asshole had wandered by with a little kid and started chewing them out for their ‘public indecency.’  Curt had kind of liked that, though, since the kid was clearly on their side.  Even if they weren’t doing anything to change people today, at least they were helping the people of tomorrow to be true to themselves.  “I don’t care,” he insisted.

            Brian was silent for a moment or two, then let out an unsettling laugh.  “Is this your ideal, then?” he asked.  Curt could hear the movement as he lolled his head to the side to look at him.  “You want to retire to a place like this someday?”

            Curt turned his own head to look at the man he loved.  “Retire?” he repeated.  “What the fuck makes you think I’m gonna live long enough to retire?”  How many other singers had already been lost to drugs?  Sure, he wasn’t on heroin anymore, but they were both taking enough other shit that it probably already counted as a miracle they were still alive.

            “Of course you will,” Brian assured him, in those soft, smooth, warm tones that gave Curt a peace he had never felt before the day Brian entered his life.  Then Brian looked back up at the sky.  “When I retire, I want it to be to the stars.  A space station, or another world.”  Gently, his hand found Curt’s, and squeezed it.  “I want you to be there with me.”

            Curt tried to smile.  “I will be,” he lied.  No way he’d live that long.  He knew that.  He’d known he would die young ever since that first day in the hospital at thirteen.

            As they fell into silence again, Curt looked down at the green pin sparkling on his open shirt, and heard over again the words Brian had said when he had put it there half an hour ago.  It was a beautiful sentiment, like all of Brian’s words of love, but…  “Hey,” Curt said, looking back over at Brian.  “Does it ever bother you that we say such weird shit?”

            “What?”  Brian’s beautiful eyes were clouded by confusion.

            “When we get all romantic.  It’s never normal stuff, you know?”

            Brian laughed.  “You’d prefer boring to beautiful?”

            “Of course not.  I just…”  Sometimes he just wanted to hear the words.

            Brian gave him a knowing smile, as if he could read Curt’s mind.  “Alright, I love you,” he said.  “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

            “Yeah,” Curt laughed.  “I love you, too.”

            Brian’s smile was as bright and warm as it had been the day they met.


	32. You think you're funny?

            Curt was taking a leak off the side of the building when he heard laughter behind him.  He glanced over his shoulder at the boy, who was still sitting on the mattress, producing the sweet, childish laughter of a kid both impressed by and jealous of someone who doesn’t care about the rules.

            “Are you done waterin’ the flowers?” he asked as Curt finished up.

            “You think you’re funny?” Curt demanded, turning around fully, without bothering to put it away.  That didn’t do anything to put a stop to the laughter, of course.  “You do, don’t you?”  With a mock-growl, Curt pounced on him, ruffling up his hair with both hands.

            The laughter was more faint now, the sound of breath through a smile.

            In the early dawn light, the youth looked both younger and older at the same time.  Last night, Curt had been positive the boy was eighteen, but right at this moment, if he’d claimed to be fifteen or twenty-five, Curt would have believed it either way.  It didn’t matter:  he was young, he was beautiful, and he was staring up at Curt with an innocent desire that filled Curt with the need to fuck him again.


	33. I can do this.

            Curt’s steps faltered as he left the bar.  Was he doing the right thing or making it worse?

            No, he couldn’t doubt himself.  If he did that, he’d lose.

            “I can do this,” he muttered.

            Sure, he was under pressure now, but that was because of the conjunction of the anniversary and the election.  Once some time had passed, they’d stop following him around, stop listening in on his phone calls, stop kidnapping him every time someone started looking for Brian.

            Then he’d be free.  He’d be able to talk to people without looking over his shoulder.  Even to reporters...


	34. You always this quiet?

            Looking over the edge of the roof, Curt could see the puddle of piddle down on the sidewalk.  Some old lady’s dog was drinking out of it.  Disgusting.

            He mashed out his cigarette, and turned to look at the boy sitting nearby, gazing up at the sky as the early morning light caressed his naked body.  God, it had felt good fucking him.  Both times.  But…he’d barely said two dozen words.  Laughed a lot, but…

            “You always this quiet?” Curt asked.  “I don’t even know your name.”

            The boy smiled.  “No, not usually.  And my name’s Arthur.  Arthur Stuart.”


	35. Is that my shirt?

            Who would have thought a single question could cause such a mess?  It had taken Shannon almost two hours to ensure that everyone who heard it either dismissed it as crude gossip or misunderstood it utterly.  A few of the more zealous guards had set off to look for the man who had asked it, but Shannon was sure he was long gone.  Still, no harm in letting them have their fun looking for him.

            It was quite late by the time she returned to the hotel suite where they were staying.  The lights were still on in the front room, allowing her to see just how badly it had been treated since she left it this afternoon.  Furniture had been upended, and one of the table lamps had been smashed through a mirror.

            The door to Tommy’s room was shut, so he was probably sleeping it off.  Despite her temptation to the contrary, Shannon decided it was best to let him alone, and headed for her own room instead.

            To her surprise, as she opened the door she was nearly bowled over by the reek of alcohol.  Her clothes were scattered all about the floor, and Tommy stood in the middle of the room, looking at himself in the full length mirror attached to the door into the toilet.  He was still wearing his white trousers, but above them he wore a delicate blouse, pink silk with a bit of lace at the throat.  It was too small for him, clinging tightly to his chest, even though the top three or four buttons were open.

            Tommy didn’t acknowledge her, and for a minute or two Shannon didn’t know how to react.

            “Is that my shirt?” she finally asked.  Not much of a question, but what else could she say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. It's taken 35 chapters to get to post-movie content. 
> 
> I suck.


	36. I can't trust you.

            Of all the times to take time off to visit her family!  Shannon would never forgive herself for being away from London when the story broke, exposing poor Brian to the cold, cruel world.  Worst of all, the way the article was phrased, it was obvious he’d been betrayed by someone in the know, someone close to him.  Someone who should have known better.

            She was hurrying back to his side when Jerry intercepted her.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, leaning in close.  “Where have you been?  Brian says he hasn’t seen you for days.”

            Shannon’s hands curled up into fists so tight that it was a miracle blood wasn’t oozing out.  “I’ve been with my family,” she told him curtly, trying to step around him as she spoke.

            But Jerry moved in time with her, keeping her path blocked.  “That’s sweet,” he said, with the smile that used to seem almost charming.  “Why don’t we have lunch somewhere?” Jerry suggested.  “You can’t be busy, after all; what need has he of a wardrobe mistress while he’s in hiding?”

            “I have other duties now,” Shannon informed him coldly, trying to keep her calm.  Blowing up at him would only cause her to lose control, and that would give _him_ the control.  “Brian needs me.”

            “What he needs is to get back to work,” Jerry said, with a self-satisfied smirk.  It was him, then?  He was the one who had told the world Brian was still alive?  “Now, let’s go somewhere to be alone,” he added, reaching a hand towards Shannon’s face.

            She slapped his hand away.  “Don’t touch me.”

            “Really, what has come over you?” Jerry asked.  “Nothing’s changed here,” he added, gesturing to himself.

            “You’re right, nothing’s changed.  I can’t trust you, and I never should have!  And neither should Brian!”

            Jerry stared at her, uncomprehending.  “Just what’s so terrible about me?”  Was he denying that he had been the one to expose Brian’s secret?  But accusing him of it would never change that; he’d only deny it the more fervently.

            “You’re not normal,” Shannon pointed out instead.  “A _normal_ person wouldn’t have a gigantic picture of himself on his office wall in the first place, let alone one where he’s dressed like Marilyn Monroe!”

            She pushed around him and hurried on her way before he could recover.

            “Brian’s not normal, either!” Jerry shouted after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter that fails. :( I apparently can't write Jerry to save my life. Trying to find a way to tie this into the previous chapter to justify the flashback was also awkward as hell.


	37. You look really tired.

            It might have been the worst day Arthur’d had in years.  The subway had been so crowded he’d missed his stop this morning and ended up arriving to work late, his rough came back covered in so much red ink that he might as well have been writing a new article, he’d spent all afternoon literally chasing a story, and Tommy Stone’s latest album had been nominated for half a dozen major awards, despite that it was utter rubbish.

            He’d have been better off calling in sick and staying in bed.

            At least the day was over.  He could go home, take a shower, and collapse into bed.  There was no money left in his bank account, so dinner wasn’t an option, but Arthur was more tired than hungry anyway.  All he had to do was wait for the subway to get there…

            He had just closed his eyes to shut out the world for a few minutes when he heard a voice addressing him.

            “You look really tired.”

            Arthur’s eyes shot open in surprise.  “Curt!?”

            Curt was standing in front of him, with a small smile on his lips.  The hair that couldn’t reach his ponytail was hanging down in front of his face, but didn’t hide the gentle look in his eyes.  “Rough day?” he asked.

            Arthur nodded.  “The worst.”  He didn’t have the courage to add ‘until now.’

            “You need to do something to relax and unwind.  Like a nice dinner.”

            “Can’t afford one,” Arthur sighed.  “I’m broke.”

            Curt’s smile widened.  “I’m not swimming in it, but I can afford a few meals.  Wanna come back to my place for some take-out?”

            Arthur’s heart leapt.  “I’d love to,” he replied, trying not to let his voice betray him to the bystanders who could hear their every word.


	38. You're a terrible cook.

            Until today, Arthur had never known just how awful it was, having to work for a living.  No wonder his father was always so grim.  Though his desk job had to be better than working the register in a shop all day.  Not even a proper shop, just a newsstand outside an Underground station.  Arthur had been forced to get there at an ungodly hour, creeping out of the flat while everyone else was sleeping.  During the morning rush, when all the other stiffs were on their way to their own dreary jobs, Arthur had been overwhelmed with so many customers that he’d felt as though his blood was boiling.  And then for the rest of the day, there’d barely been a soul.  At least he’d been able to mildly entertain himself by reading the merchandise.  He’d ended up reading every word of three different newspapers.

            He wasn’t looking forward to getting home, either.  The Creatures were used to him being all bursting energy, but now he had none to spare.  They’d be disappointed that their little pet wasn’t fun anymore, and soon enough Arthur would be out on the street.  Even though he’d only taken the job to help them with their rent in the first place.

            When Arthur got into the flat, he could hear noises from the bedrooms, but the front room was deserted, so he collapsed on the couch and fell promptly to sleep.

            He woke up to the feeling of someone stroking his hair.  Without even opening his eyes, he swatted the hand away.  “I’m exhausted,” he moaned.  “Just let me sleep.”

            “Must have been a lousy first day,” Billy commented.

            “Mmm,” was the best answer Arthur could muster.

            “What do you want for dinner?”

            “Don’t care.”  All Arthur wanted was to sleep!

            He heard the sound of Billy walking away again after a moment or two, then Arthur tried to get some more sleep.  He must have succeeded, because he felt a bit refreshed by the time he woke, smelling something odd.  Getting off the couch, he followed the scent into the kitchen, where Billy was stirring something in a pot.  It bubbled like a witch’s brew, and smelled like meat, broth and sugar.  Pearl was watching Billy with a dubious look on his face.

            “What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asked, trying not to yawn.

            “I thought I’d make you some dinner,” Billy told him, with a grin.  “My mum’s special recipe.  Guaranteed to banish all bad days.”

            “I’ve had your mum’s stew before, and it doesn’t smell anything like this,” Pearl said.  “You’re a terrible cook.”

            “This is _exactly_ what it smells like!” Billy insisted.  “You were just too high to tell the difference.”

            They continued to bicker about the stew until Arthur started laughing.  Why had he been so worried?  The Flaming Creatures were nothing like anyone else he’d ever met.  They wouldn’t kick him out.  They were friends, lovers, musicians and a great laugh.

            They’d always be together, the five of them.


	39. I really want you.

            They had stopped to pick up Chinese food on the way to Curt’s flat.  Arthur had been careful to avoid anything with garlic in it.  Just in case.

            Curt’s place wasn’t the palatial residence Arthur would have imagined, but it still made his own flat look even more like a pitiful hole in the wall than it normally did.  As they sat at the very ordinary table eating out of the white paper boxes, they talked idly, mostly in the form of Curt asking Arthur about himself.  How long he’d been in America, what made him go into journalism; the sort of questions that might be put to both an old acquaintance and a total stranger.

            None of it answered Arthur’s desperate question.  None of it told him if Curt remembered that night they had shared ten years ago.

            It seemed all too soon that they finished eating, leaving Arthur no excuse to linger.  If only Curt would ask him to stay!

            They sat in silence for several minutes, nothing between them but empty take-out boxes.  “D’you…d’you want a drink?” Curt asked, his expression almost painfully vulnerable.

            “I’d love one,” Arthur agreed, probably too quickly.

            “Whiskey okay?”

            “Sure.”  It didn’t matter what the drink was; it was really an excuse to stay there a few minutes longer.

            Curt disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a couple of small glasses, passing by the table to take a seat on the sofa in the television room.  Arthur followed him eagerly, and sat down close beside him.

            But after they’d drunk the whiskey, they lapsed back into an awkward silence made all the more uncomfortable by the sudden nearness of their bodies.  “Curt, I…” Arthur started, then stopped again, biting his lip and looking down at his lap.  What was he supposed to say?  How was he supposed to express the desperate longing that had filled him for the past three months?  He’d sound like the most pathetic git if he tried to explain it…

            A strong, gentle hand lifted his chin, turning his face back towards Curt’s.  The rough-skinned thumb stroked his lips, sending a thrill coursing through Arthur’s body.

            “I really want you,” Curt said, leaning in closer.  “Still.”

            Arthur smiled, a giddy warmth filling him.  Rather than answer with words, he closed the distance between them, and kissed Curt passionately.  A courage he had lacked ten years ago…


	40. Who were you with?

            It was noon before Arthur got back to the flat.  Inside, everything was almost deathly quiet.  He soon began to suspect he was the first one home, and that thought gave him the courage to walk freely through the flat, without taking off his shoes to muffle his footsteps.

            He was just opening the door to the bedroom when he heard a light moan.  Peeking through the cracked door, Arthur saw Ray passed out on the bed, and someone else on the floor, head half-hidden by a chair.  So it wasn’t that they weren’t home:  they were all just hung-over.

            Not wanting to wake them, Arthur made his way back to the sofa and sat down, carefully avoiding the noisiest springs.  One of the wooden chairs at the table would have been quieter, but his arse was a little bit tender.  Still, it had been such a beautiful night!

            Arthur drifted off into his memories of the previous night, and didn’t return to the present until he heard his flatmates stirring in the bedrooms.  They’d be wanting food, and in no state to prepare it themselves, so he went into the kitchen, where he put the kettle on, and started making a light breakfast for them.  Hopefully, it would be a suitable apology for having run off without them to have the greatest night of his life.

            One by one, the Flaming Creatures stumbled into the kitchen, drawn in by the scent of fresh food, their eyes blood-shot and their expressions bleary.  They started to perk up a bit once they had some food in them, though, and soon Arthur found himself the subject of more attention than he was used to.

            “You’re certainly chipper this morning,” Malcolm commented.

            Arthur laughed.  “It’s two in the afternoon!”

            “What happened to you last night?” Ray asked.  “You just up and vanished.”

            “Er…yes…sorry about that.”  He smiled weakly.  “If I’d stopped to tell anyone where I was going, I might not have gotten to go…”

            They all laughed.  “We’re the ones who were up on stage, and you’re the one who scored?” Billy asked.  “Where’s the justice in that?!” he added, though his words were nearly obscured by his laughter.

            “Well, don’t keep us in suspense!” Pearl exclaimed.  “Tell us already.  Who were you with?  Anyone we know?”

            “Curt Wild,” Arthur told them, his face breaking out in a giddy smile.


	41. Don't be an ass.

            “What are you dragging your feet for?” Curt asked, frowning at Arthur.  “Finish getting dressed so we can go!  Or are you saying you’re too good to wear that now?”

            “It’s not that,” Arthur assured him, though he was certainly embarrassed about the idea of wearing bell bottoms and a glittery blouse again.  But it was ‘70s Night,’ so everyone else at the club would be dressed similarly.  “But it’s such a big charity event.  What if someone sees us?”

            “Don’t be an ass,” Curt said, scowling at him.  “What are you afraid of?”

            “Losin’ my job.”

            “There’s other jobs out there.”

            Arthur sighed, nodding.  “There are, but…”

            “Is it _really_ about your job?”

            “What?  What else could it be?”

            “Maybe you’re ashamed of me.”  Curt was practically pouting.

            “Never!”  Arthur pulled Curt into his arms, kissing him passionately.  “You know I love you.  I’m just not as brave as I used to be.”  Not brave in the same ways, at any rate.

            Curt sighed deeply.  “All right, all right.  If it looks like there’s paparazzi at the door, we’ll go in the back, okay?  I know a guy who works there; he’ll let us in”

            Arthur smiled.  “Sounds perfect.”


	42. Will you marry me?

            Ray had come back from his day job loaded down with clothes he said he had borrowed from the overstock.  And of course he wanted Arthur to try them all on.  Arthur had long ago begun to suspect that Ray had only taken the job so he could get fashionable clothes cheaply, rather than wanting to help out with the rent, which was now being paid almost entirely by Arthur’s salary, since the Creatures weren’t getting many gigs anymore.

            “I knew that one would look great on you,” Ray commented as Arthur pulled on a pale pink shirt with a sequined collar.  “You should wear it tomorrow.”

            “It’d get wrecked up if I wore it on a normal day,” Arthur sighed.  “And tomorrow I ‘ave to clean the flat before the landlord sees what a state it’s in and kicks us all out!”  Why was he the only one with any thought for the future?  He was supposed to be the star-struck kid without any brains, but _they_ were the ones acting like foolish children.

            Suddenly, Ray pulled him close and kissed him.  “You’re really a marvel,” he said afterwards, stroking Arthur’s hair.  “Will you marry me?”

            “Are you mental?  Two men can’t marry each other!”

            “We could put you in a dress, and no one would know the difference,” Ray insisted.

            Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and he fought against the urge to make a face of disgust.  “It doesn’t work that way,” he said.  Even if it _did_ , being mistaken for a girl was the last thing he wanted!

            “When did you start getting so uptight?” Ray asked, letting go of Arthur.  “It’s like you’re not even the same cute little waif we took in off the streets.”

            “Cute little waif?” Arthur repeated.  “I was seventeen, not seven!”  He shook his head.  “I ‘aven’t changed, not a bit.  It’s you four who’ve changed.  You’re relyin’ on me for everything!  It’s not fair—it’s not _right_!  I shouldn’t ‘ave to spend the rest of my life babysittin’ you just because you—you’re the ones who said _you_ ’d look after _me_!”  He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the words now that they’d gotten going.  “Other blokes my age are in uni, ‘aving fun and playin’ around, but I’m ‘aving to work my arse off to support four grown men!  Where’s the justice in that?”


	43. Are you fucking insane?!

            Curt didn’t want to believe his ears.  “Run that by me again.”  Maybe if he had to repeat it, Arthur would realize how stupid he was being.

            “I’m writin’ up the full story to run this weekend,” he repeated, clearly not coming to his senses.  “I’ll make sure Lou gives it the front page, catch everyone’s eye.  It won’t take long before it’s on the telly, and then the whole world will know the truth.”

            “Are you fucking insane?!” Curt demanded.  “He’s got these goddamn bulldozers working to protect his reputation!  You do this and they won’t stop at a little harmless kidnapping—they’ll shoot your pretty face off!”

            “Curt, calm down.  I’ve planned it out very carefully.  Tommy Stone’s in California right now; his guards won’t know about it until it’s already on the national news.”

            “They’ve got people permanently assigned to tailing me and Mandy!” Curt snapped back.  “I’m amazed they’ve never interfered with me dating you!”  Considering they knew Arthur had been looking for Brian earlier, it really was a miracle—a suspicious one—that they hadn’t done anything.  “You know those guys don’t actually work for Tommy, don’t you?” he added.  “They work for Reynolds.”

            “But that’s just it!” Arthur insisted.  “That’s why we have to expose him!  He’s gettin’ involved in Reynolds’ re-election campaign.  If we don’t do this, it’ll make it even easier for Reynolds to get re-elected.  But if we turn away Tommy’s fans by showin’ them he used to be Brian, there may be a chance we can get Reynolds out of the White House.”

            “You really are insane,” Curt sighed, shaking his head.  “That or criminally naïve.  There isn’t shit anyone can do to stop Reynolds.  The whole fucking thing’s rigged.  And stop saying ‘we!’  I’m not involved in this crap—and if you keep following through with it, I’m not gonna be involved with _you_ , either!”

            “But....”  Arthur stared at him, mouth hanging open like a fish, eyes watery and trembling.  It was a painfully pleading look, and it made Curt feel fucking guilty, so he looked away, pronto.  Being suckered into doing the wrong thing for the right reasons was no good.  He needed to stay strong and resist temptation.  Following a pretty face into Hell was no better than going in alone.

            “Just forget this whole idea,” Curt insisted.

            “I can’t.  I ‘ave to do this.”

            “Fucking idiot!  If you want to get yourself killed, go ahead!  But don’t expect me to chase down a bullet with you!”  Curt stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

            Why?  Just when he’d thought maybe he’d found something good again, the first time in ten years he’d been able to care about someone, then _this_ had to go and happen?  Was it his own fault somehow?  Maybe he had really disastrous taste in men.  Or maybe he was cursed.

            Either way, it sucked.

            He’d just have to avoid love in the future.  It wasn’t worth the risks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly (and yet perhaps unsurprisingly), in a fic I wrote earlier (before finding out about this challenge), Curt's reaction to Arthur's decision to expose Tommy's secret was *also* "Are you fucking insane?"
> 
> And come to think of it, the scene played out pretty similarly there, too. Different nuances to it, of course, but...
> 
> (Shameless self-plug: that other fic has since been posted. It's called "Celebrity," and I think it's one of my best.)


	44. I really need you.

            Shannon hesitated outside the door.  She hadn’t been doing her job right.  That was obvious.  If she had, Brian would never have descended this far.

            Ultimately, it was Jerry’s fault, of course.  If he had only protected Brian—as a manager ought to do!—it would never have come to this.  It had been Jerry’s job to keep Brian from meeting someone who would destroy him as utterly as that awful American had.  Mandy was to blame, too; what sort of wife would so gladly allow her husband to stray into the beds of strange men?

            Shannon had done all she could to protect him since everyone else callously abandoned him, but it was too little, too late.

            Glumly, she knocked, then used her key.  Her breath caught in her throat as she opened the door.  What if today was the day he would overdose?  What if today was the day she’d find him on the floor, unmoving?

            Thankfully, today wasn’t that terrible day.  Brian was sitting on the couch, facing the switched-off television set.  It felt like a cruel joke that the slender, beautiful man she had met six years ago could have changed so much so quickly.  He had put on at least two stone in his lethargic apathy, and the weight had widened his face, robbing him of the ethereal looks that had once captivated the whole world.  Lately, he had fallen into the habit of staring vacantly ahead of him, as he was doing now, giving him the look of a catatonic.

            Shannon tried to smile, and walked up in front of him.  “What do you want to do today?” she asked, shrinking inwardly at the realisation that her job seemed to have changed to nurse.  “It’s been a long time since you wrote any new songs,” she suggested, when Brian didn’t respond.  “Or we could go for a walk…”  Hopelessly, she tried one after another, but none provoked even the slightest reaction.  “All right,” Shannon eventually conceded, “perhaps today isn’t a good day for you.  If you don’t need me, I’ll just go.”  It wasn’t, after all, as if she was still being paid for her time.

            She was almost to the door when she heard his voice.  “Shannon,” Brian said quietly, without emotion.  Shannon stopped, but didn’t turn to look at him.  She couldn’t bear it.  “I need you.”  It was barely more than a whisper.  By the time she turned around, Brian was leaning forward, his face in his hands.  “I really need you.”

            Shannon hurried over to sit beside him, setting a comforting arm around his shoulders.  “Tell me what you need.”

            “I can’t go on like this,” he moaned into his hands.  “I need…I need applause…”

            Uncomfortably, she stroked his back, urging him to let it all out.

            Applause.

            It wasn’t impossible—Brian was a great artist, after all!—but it wouldn’t be easy.  His fans still hadn’t forgiven him.  Maybe they never would.

            He’d have to get _new_ fans…


	45. I need you, though.

            Lou had insisted on holding the article until a slow news day.  Even though he’d had it for a week, it hadn’t gone out yet.  Hopefully things would be quiet tomorrow, so it could go out on Friday.  But at this point Arthur wasn’t holding his breath.  If it looked as though Lou was still being coerced, he’d just take the story elsewhere.  Even if it cost him his job.

            It had already cost him the man he loved.  What did a mere job matter beside that loss?

            Arthur flipped on the television to watch the evening news, hoping the different perspective on affairs would provide him some miraculous clue.  Some way to fix everything.

            The newsreader had barely started on the top story of the day when someone knocked on Arthur’s door.  When he opened it, he was surprised to find Curt on the other side.

            “Curt…why…?”

            Curt made quiet, uncomfortable noises as several awkward expressions passed across his face.  “I just…I’ve been thinking…”

            Arthur nodded, trying not to jump to conclusions.  No point in getting his hopes up.  “You want to come in?” he offered, and Curt followed him inside the flat without a word.

            They stood there in an almost eerie silence for several minutes before Curt spoke.  “Did you change your mind about the story?”  The hope in his voice was heavy, like cream.

            Arthur shook his head, and explained about Lou’s excuses.  “I’m seein’ it published, no matter what.”

            “I still say that’s a mistake,” Curt insisted.  “I don’t want to be blamed for your shit.”

            “Then…”

            “I need you, though,” he went on, his eyes looking right through Arthur’s into his soul.  “I…good things don’t come around that often, and I—I already fucked up once.  I can’t do it again.”


	46. You need to go.

            It had taken Lou almost a month to print the story, but the reaction had been overwhelming.  Within a week, Tommy Stone had lost his fans, his career, and his support from President Reynolds.

            At the end of that week, Tommy was rushed to the emergency room.

            No word had been released as to what had happened.  Rumours abounded:  drug overdose, suicide attempt, heart attack, attempted murder…none of them felt quite right, but none of them seemed impossible, either.

            The only person who was staying by Tommy’s side—the only one who had stayed by Brian’s side—wouldn’t speak to the press, except to tell them that Tommy was still unconscious.  Many of his colleagues didn’t believe her, but Arthur did.  If Tommy’s condition had improved, Shannon’s eyes wouldn’t have been red from crying, and her voice wouldn’t have been strained and hoarse.  Her distress proved that the situation was still serious.

            Almost a week later, Arthur brought some take-out Italian to Curt’s flat for a mid-week date.  Just a quiet meal, maybe a movie on the telly, and then retire to bed for some beautiful sex.  That seemed to be the routine that got the best results for them, so why change it?

            They hadn’t quite finished eating when the phone rang.  Cursing under his breath, Curt answered it, and soon fell very quiet.  He didn’t say a word to the person on the other end, just hung up after a while, then resumed his seat, a sombre look on his face.

            “Who was it?” Arthur asked.

            “Shannon.”

            “Did something happen?”

            Curt shrugged.  “She said he woke up.  And that he’s asking for me.  But fuck that!”

            “You need to go,” Arthur said.  “Brian’s askin’ for you.  You’ll regret it if you don’t see him.”

            Uncertainly, Curt nodded.


	47. You're always number one.

            “This week’s charts are in!”  That mousey girl came running up to Brian, holding a newspaper, her eyes dancing with glee.  She must have been carrying a pretty heavy torch for him to look at him like that.  Pretty pathetic, considering Jerry was always all over her.  Curt felt sorry for her, really:  girls like her spent their whole lives being trampled by the men around them.

            “Ta.”  Brian gave her a glowing smile as he took the paper.

            That poor girl looked like she was going to die of happiness.  Then her smile faded as Brian turned to Curt, and she left the room, biting her lip as if she was fighting tears.

            “You want to see?” Brian asked.

            “Is there any point to it?” Curt sighed.

            Brian just laughed, opening the paper to the week’s record sales.  “Here, look, your sales are up,” he said, handing the paper over to Curt.

            It was true, Curt’s position had on the chart had changed:  he’d gone from number 7 to number 6.  But…  “You’re always number one,” he grumbled.  Just _once_ he’d like to have one of his own records hit number one.  Was that so much to ask for?

            “Well, of course I am,” Brian replied, with a smug little smile.  “What did you expect from Maxwell Demon?”

            “Self-destructive egotism?” Curt suggested.  That was, after all, how the story went.  And this whole Maxwell Demon act was getting really fucking old.

            Brian laughed.  “Good thing I’m not him, then, isn’t it?” he replied, running his fingers through Curt’s hair.  “Come on, pet, cheer up.”

            “I’m plenty cheerful.  And I’m no one’s fucking pet!”

            “But you like it when I pet you, don’t you?” Brian countered, caressing Curt through his pants.

            “Who wouldn’t?”  But that didn’t really fix the problem...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Challenge completed! :D


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